


Faces of Delirious

by Payson_Blinde



Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: Character Study, Drabble Collection, Interpretations of Delirious, Short Stories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-09-16 15:46:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9278534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Payson_Blinde/pseuds/Payson_Blinde
Summary: These are a few of my interpretations of H2O Delirious as a person/character. The point of view is a little awkward, sorry.





	1. Intangible

He's a man, like any of the countless others you might see walking the street, doing whatever needs to be done to fuel their existence. But amongst the men and women pacing and trudging down the sidewalks, clad in their grey suits and their grey eyes, he seems a bit... misplaced – like a stray, shining speck that silently refuses to be mistaken with the dingy carpet.  
  
He walks with a certain bounce in his step, radiating a sort of playful demeanor, and it catches the attention of the occasional lonesome figure, who might turn with a hesitant eye to watch him pass. His capacity for happiness is clearly endless, and answers to no one. His mind seems boundless as that of a child, peering up at the night sky, riding trains of thought that have never heard of tracks.  
  
There's an element of that almost palpable bliss, something that can't quite be pinned down, but it seems to grab your eye like a magnet, and it would be unpleasant and pointless to attempt tearing yourself away. Perhaps it's the way his head seems to bob to the beat of a more jovial world, unburdened by the trivial worries that weigh the others down. Perhaps it's the way his mouth seems to never retreat from that simple and brilliant smile, tempting passerby into an inexplicable, foolish, irresistible happiness. With a cheerful 'sorry' and a cheeky grin to the woman he appears to have bumped, he charms another unsuspecting soul so effortlessly, as if he doesn't realize the magic of his own gaze – indeed, perhaps he doesn't.  
  
You might watch him from where you sit, waiting for your bus or eating your lunch, imagining what in the world he might be off to do; visit a friend, or run an errand, or returning home, but somehow it seems impossible to imagine this incredible being anywhere else but where he walked now. How could such refreshing, undeniable happiness be sustained? How could he complete mundane tasks – grocery shopping, cooking dinner, cleaning the bathroom – as if he were just like anyone else?  
  
I suppose such a question could never be answered. Try as you might, crane your neck, rise slightly from where you sit, just to watch him another moment, track the rise and fall of the top of his head to remind yourself that he really was there – he disappears. Elusive as the comet skipping across the sky, never again to be seen. And you settle again where you sit, and continue your business, wondering silently if such a soul ever did exist.


	2. Beloved Outcast

This person never felt the need to meet the expectations of others. His parents wanted a son they could teach to throw footballs and shoot guns; a boy who would have countless friends, and would never worry about a thing. His teachers wanted a student who would sit quietly and learn, whose grades took first priority, and with every new challenge, would succeed. His peers wanted a friend who would eat lunch with them and tell them secrets, and never say that they were wrong. But he was none of these things.

He wasn't the sort of person you would expect these things from for very long, if you understood people at all. Everything about him was just... slightly off. And perhaps not in a bad way. But it was unexpected, and that was enough to catch people off guard. It'd be difficult to blame these people, the ones who never gave him a chance, the ones who deemed him unsuitable for whatever role they'd subconsciously assigned to him and then left. After all, they're only human. They fear what they don't understand.

But they were missing out.

For a while, he tried to become normal. Tried to twist his thoughts and carve his actions into a person that someone would be happy to see. But it wouldn't take him very long to realize the pain in this. And it wouldn't take him much longer to realize its futility. There was simply no changing what he was, and while he'd gone through the hell of finding this out the hard way, the stares like needles on his skin would just never figure it out. They would insist that he just hadn't twisted himself far enough, hadn't cut off enough of himself, and if he hadn't been such a lazy bum or a sick freak, he would be just fine. He'd have nothing to complain about. If only he'd ruined himself a little more, maybe his existence could be tolerated.

He knew better. The things that made him different weren't his demons, they were just him. He couldn't change them.

But sometimes, he forgets. When he was sent out of the room for fidgeting during a lesson, or when he was given the wrong address for a friend's birthday party and rode a bus for three hours just to end up at the doorstep of a hung-over man shouting at him that he was at the wrong house, or when he came home for Thanksgiving to the most silent and hostile dinner he'd ever attended all because he still didn't have a job – he wishes he'd have just done it. Twisted a little more. Scraped off that last piece of himself. Just to become normal.

But he didn't – and thank goodness.

It must have come to such an enormous shock to find that there was indeed a place for him in the world. A place that was a little crooked, and a more than a little broken – but it was his without a doubt. It fit every single piece of him, the pieces he wouldn't chop off for someone else's appeasement. He didn't have to crouch or shift or do some kind of ungodly contortion in order to fit, and he never would. No matter what the others saw, regardless of people outside treating him like an insult to his species – he would always, always have a home.


	3. Intangible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Way too angsty. Went a little wild with it.

He's a man, like any of the countless others you might see walking the street, doing whatever needs to be done to fuel their existence. But amongst the men and women pacing and trudging down the sidewalks, clad in their grey suits and their grey eyes, he seems a bit... misplaced – like a stray, shining speck that silently refuses to be mistaken with the dingy carpet.  
  
He walks with a certain bounce in his step, radiating a sort of playful demeanor, and it catches the attention of the occasional lonesome figure, who might turn with a hesitant eye to watch him pass. His capacity for happiness is clearly endless, and answers to no one. His mind seems boundless as that of a child, peering up at the night sky, riding trains of thought that have never heard of tracks.  
  
There's an element of that almost palpable bliss, something that can't quite be pinned down, but it seems to grab your eye like a magnet, and it would be unpleasant and pointless to attempt tearing yourself away. Perhaps it's the way his head seems to bob to the beat of a more jovial world, unburdened by the trivial worries that weigh the others down. Perhaps it's the way his mouth seems to never retreat from that simple and brilliant smile, tempting passerby into an inexplicable, foolish, irresistible happiness. With a cheerful 'sorry' and a cheeky grin to the woman he appears to have bumped, he charms another unsuspecting soul so effortlessly, as if he doesn't realize the magic of his own gaze – indeed, perhaps he doesn't.  
  
You might watch him from where you sit, waiting for your bus or eating your lunch, imagining what in the world he might be off to do; visit a friend, or run an errand, or returning home, but somehow it seems impossible to imagine this incredible being anywhere else but where he walked now. How could such refreshing, undeniable happiness be sustained? How could he complete mundane tasks – grocery shopping, cooking dinner, cleaning the bathroom – as if he were just like anyone else?  
  
I suppose such a question could never be answered. Try as you might, crane your neck, rise slightly from where you sit, just to watch him another moment, track the rise and fall of the top of his head to remind yourself that he really was there – he disappears. Elusive as the comet skipping across the sky, never again to be seen. And you settle again where you sit, and continue your business, wondering silently if such a soul ever did exist.


	4. An Alternate Presentation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snippet of fantasy.
> 
> Could be fun to read aloud.

Deep within an overgrown woodland, where the trees heave long, slow sighs, sleeping the centuries away, and the moss has ventured and sprawled far and wide – a vast empire which has dominated any surface which has put its guard down – where the dark soil draws the law, and the boons and bats and jungle cats deliver their unkind justice – there is a river.

This river speeds and skips in tumultuous sprays and splashes over the soft, worn rocks. It defies the calm, steady pace of the metronome which pulses through the air of the forest. It is impatient and sudden, and once decided, does all things all at once. It stops for nothing and no one, and is never to be tamed. Within it, coursing through it, with unrelenting vigor and vengeance, is a spirit, known by all the plodding people of the forest as Delirious.


End file.
